


hand in unlovable hand

by contorno



Series: The Art of Seeing [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22189567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contorno/pseuds/contorno
Summary: Will considers Hannibal, then the ocean.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: The Art of Seeing [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782271
Comments: 60
Kudos: 328





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a very self-indulgent fic i wrote, without doing a lot of planning (plot-wise), because the series finale broke me and i needed to know what happens to will and hannibal, even if that meant making something up myself
> 
> credit to "no children" by the mountain goats because that's where i got the title from 
> 
> also i feel the need to mention that english isn't my first language but from what i've been told, it's pretty decent so hopefully you won't even notice !

Will considers Hannibal, then the ocean. 

A shiver runs down his back, and Hannibal puts his hand there as if he knows. In return, Will tightens his grip on the fabric of Hannibal's clothes until the threads begin to tear under his nails. 

The pain in his cheek and shoulder and heart is so unbearable that his body simply chooses not to feel it anymore. Instead, he focuses on Hannibal’s hands, which are both clinging to him and trying not to touch him at all. 

All he wants, at this moment, is to pull Hannibal impossibly closer, to touch the skin at the back of his neck. And for Hannibal to do the same to him. 

How childish it is of him to think _I want,_ and then repeat it in his head like a mantra so that it might come true. But that doesn’t stop him. There hasn’t been a moment spent in Hannibal’s company where he did not think of some kind of desire. 

When Hannibal says, “See. This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us,” he almost laughs at the irony of it. 

But, instead, he smiles. “It’s beautiful.” 

The weight of those words drags at him even after they leave his mouth. Will believes what happened to them tonight was beautiful. He believes the way they cling to each other now, to each other’s lives and their own, is beautiful. A part of him, hidden deep down at the pit of his stomach, knows he shouldn’t feel that way. It tears him open from the inside. 

And, so, he cries. So, his head falls against Hannibal’s shoulder. He summons the last bit of strength he has left and pushes them off the cliff. As they fall towards the water, Hannibal doesn’t let go off him. 

If anything, he pulls him closer. 

* * * * * 

When Will wakes up, he’s in such intense pain he almost calls out for Molly. But, not wanting to scare her, he clenches his jaw and sets out to wake her as gently as possible. The muscles in his shoulder burn brightly, the feeling manifesting as a flash before his eyes, as he pats the spot beside him where she's sleeping. But, instead of the softness and warmth of her body, his hand is met with something cold and _coarse_. 

He forces his eyes to open and finds himself looking up at the stars. The deafening white noise he’s been hearing, that he thought was just a trick of his mind to fill the silence, becomes the sound of waves crashing onto land. He can’t sit up yet, but when he manages to keep his head up for a split second, he spots a body lying at his feet, twisted in a way that can’t be comfortable. 

Hannibal’s body. 

It takes Will a moment to reconstruct what had happened and how they had gotten here. When he does, he begins to cry again, sobbing almost uncontrollably. He had wanted them to die because he needed to save the world from them, and he had failed. Then he considers that Hannibal may actually be dead and although he should long for it to be true, he wishes the sea would leap up to swallow him. 

He doesn’t know how much time passes until Hannibal shifts, then groans in pain, nor how long it takes him to roll over onto his back. By the time Hannibal is done, his breathing is so heavy Will is convinced he can feel it move the air around them. 

“You know, Will,” Hannibal says after another long moment of silence, his voice hoarse, “I consider it incredibly rude to push someone off a cliff without their consent.” 

Will huffs a laugh, then groans when he feels the wound in his shoulder rip open at the edges. He wishes Hannibal could see him roll his eyes. 

“I think we’re past politeness.” 

Without warning, a string of wants begin to form in his mind. 

_I want to_ _crack his ribcage open and_ _crawl inside_ _him. I want to rest_ _there_ _until I feel warm again._ _I want to crash our mouths together_ _,_ _and_ _knock out my teeth to keep them from grinding._

It occurs to Will then that violence may be their love language. The thought horrifies him and he doesn’t want it, but there's something beautiful and poetic about it, too. It almost makes him smile. 

“You meant for us to die.” There is no sign of shock or disbelief in Hannibal’s voice, merely curiosity. “How does it make you feel to know we’re both still very much alive?” 

“Terrible,” he says. It’s the first word that comes to him and he means it. Then, his voice breaking at the words, “And ecstatic.” 

Hannibal says his name. Not to get his attention – he's got that already – but, Will imagines, for the sake of feeling it in his mouth, of _tasting_ it. He has a habit of doing that. 

“If it was in my power, Will, I would have let us die tonight. You have to know that.” 

“I do,” Will says, and nods although Hannibal can’t see it. He sighs. “But did you really think I wouldn't know you dragged us out of the water? I bet you passed out right after you put me here.” 

He only realized the truth of his words as he was saying them. When he had woken up, he had found him on his back with his legs stretched out and his hands folded on his stomach. The sea wouldn’t be so kind as to lay him down to sleep. Hannibal, on the other hand, could be. 

As Will listens to him struggling to his feet, he wonders if he had done the same. If he had saved them, had his body allowed it. He wants the answer to be _No_ but his train of thought is interrupted when Hannibal comes to stand next to him, illuminated by moonlight and clothes black with blood. 

The sight makes Will’s chest ache. 

“I believe,” Hannibal says between heaving breaths, “if we were meant to die, we would have.” 

He reaches down to him and after a moment of hesitation, Will takes his hand. Slowly and painfully, he pulls himself to his feet, stopping every few seconds to catch his breath. Will puts a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder to steady himself, his own shoulder throbbing as he lifts his arm. At the very same moment, Hannibal lets go of him. It’s almost as if they _have to_ be connected, to touch somewhere, but not too much. Too much would be unbearable. 

“I wish I didn't feel the same way,” Will says. 

“About our deaths or something else?” 

Whatever Hannibal means with _something else_ remains unspoken and Will lets it hang in the air between them. He slides his hand further up Hannibal's shoulder, over the cold, smooth skin of his neck, until he can cup the man's face in his palm. If they weren’t so close, he wouldn’t have heard the quiet, high-pitched noise that escapes Hannibal's throat. It sounds pained despite Will being the one with a knife wound in his cheek. 

Hannibal doesn’t lean into the touch but his eyelids flutter shut in a surreal kind of peace, given their situation. He clears his throat. A few seconds pass until he opens his eyes again. They’re brimming with tears. 

“Will you stay with me?” 

Will laughs at the absurdity of the question and it tears his cheek open. The pain is easy to ignore at that moment but the fresh blood trickling from the wound tickles his cheek. 

Will feels, strangely, as if they’ve had this talk before. He knows what he’s going to say next like it’s been written for him. Maybe there is such a thing as fate. Maybe they were always meant to end up here. 

He smiles, as brightly as he can manage. 

“Where else would I go?” 

* * * * * 

Aside from the roaring sea and the occasional grunt of pain, the walk back to the house is quiet. The few times that their hands brush against each other make Will wonder what it would feel like to take Hannibal's hand and hold it, their fingers entwined like the branches of an old tree. The image is so terribly intimate that it makes him blush. 

Will waits in the police car they arrived in as Hannibal goes back into the house. He comes back with an emergency kit in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. 

Illuminated by the car's dim lights, Hannibal begins to stitch up and bandage their wounds. They don’t talk to each other and Will holds his breath every time Hannibal puts a hand on him. Hannibal's eyes, on the contrary, show a clean kind of focus. The occasional twitch of his lips when he has to hold Will's face in his hands is the only thing that betrays his enjoyment. 

Thankfully, the exit wound of the bullet on Hannibal's back has stopped bleeding so Will only has to disinfect and bandage it for now. Although there isn't much he can do wrong, his hands tremble as he goes to work. 

Once he's finished, he smooths out the bandage with the palm of his hand. 

“All done.” 

Hannibal thanks him but makes no effort to turn around. Will lets his hand wander, sliding closer to the burn mark he had previously tried so hard to ignore. His fingers trace the outer circle of the scar gently and Hannibal gasps as if it still hurts to this day. 

“It’s terrible,” Will remarks as he retreats his hands. “They didn’t even center it.” 

Hannibal laughs softly as he digs through the emergency kit in search of painkillers. He takes out ten, gives three of them to Will and pops the rest into his mouth before swallowing them down with a sip of wine. 

“I know. It’s the very plight of my existence.” 

Will follows his example and they fall into a comfortable silence. All he wants to do is lay down in the backseat and sleep for a few days. But, according to Hannibal, the first rule to committing mass murder is to have a safe house that, with a lot of effort, can be found. 

The second rule is to have another one that _can’t_. 

“I know it will be difficult with your shoulder,” Hannibal says as he stores the emergency kit under the seat, “but I fear you’re going to have to drive.” 

“Why? Are you going to pass out?” 

“I’m sure of it.” 

They switch seats, Hannibal taking the long way while Will simply climbs into the driver’s seat. His hands are still trembling but he tries to steady his breath as much as he can before turning the key to start the car. 

* * * * * 

As it turns out, the second safe house is more of a cabin in the woods somewhere 200 miles east from the first one. Hannibal hasn’t been there in over 15 years but explains the way to him without any trouble. Will has never heard of the place but he knows how to read a map and considers himself to have a decent memory. 

That doesn’t help him get over his anxiety, though, and he finds himself twisting his hands around the steering wheel and bouncing his right knee up and down. 

“You worry too much,” Hannibal says. The words are slurred and Will can barely make out what he’s saying. 

He doesn't want Hannibal to fall asleep, doesn't want to be alone with his thoughts. Not that he wants to talk about them either but at least he would have something else to focus on. 

“And you should stay awake,” Will says. 

Hannibal’s head is resting against the window and Will doesn't have to look to know his eyes are closed, his hands folded in his lap. They didn’t take a blanket with them from the house but should have. He wants Hannibal to be warm. He wants it so much that it makes him feel sick. 

He thinks, for a moment, that he wants to curl up around Hannibal and keep him warm that way. Then of setting the car on fire. Then, again, of crawling inside of him. 

Hannibal sighs, content. “Why? There’s no place I would rather be.” 

“It’s a bit too cold here, don’t you think?” Will chuckles. 

Hannibal is asleep before he gets to attempt a response but Will doesn’t need one. He knows what he really meant. He used to be ashamed of that, of understanding Hannibal. Then it made him feel powerful. He finds that neither of those words fit anymore. 

The next hour that passes by is uneventful but entertaining. Hannibal drifts in and out of sleep, telling Will something new every time he’s awake. Most sentences are in English, a few in Lithuanian. By the end of it, Will only understood 40 percent of what he heard. But at least it left him with something to think about. 

Hannibal shifts in his seat, groaning at the rising sun, and Will has to smile. Would he be like this in the morning, stretching his limbs like a cat and basking in the morning light? Would he turn his head in the same manner and look at him, a soft smile on his face? Will would never, not in a million years, have believed that Hannibal could be capable of such mundane acts but right now, seeing him like this, it doesn’t seem so unlikely. 

_I want_ _–_

“Will?” 

He hums to signal he’s listening. 

“May I ask you something?” 

He stifles a sigh. “You don’t have to ask for permission. You didn’t do that before.” 

“Before? Did I talk in my sleep?” 

“Oh, no, you were definitely awake. And _very_ high on painkillers.” He can’t suppress the grin that’s tugging at the corners of his mouth but tries to keep it one-sided as to not strain his bandaged cheek too much. It’s impossible, though, to relax it entirely. Even talking takes effort. 

“Yes, I think I remember,” Hannibal says. Will knows he’s lying. He sounds afraid. “I apologize if I said anything that made you uncomfortable.” 

He laughs. “Well, it’s very easy to make me uncomfortable. But you didn't–" He glances at Hannibal, a way to show him he really means what he's saying. “Don’t worry, you didn’t say anything inappropriate.” 

“I'm relieved to hear that.” Hannibal smiles, Will can hear it in his voice. “And very curious about what I said.” 

_Curious_ isn’t the word Will would use to describe what he imagines Hannibal feels at this moment. It's something much closer to _fe_ _ar_ _of exposing_ _something about himself he_ _doesn’t want Will to know_. 

“There were quite a few highlights.” He keeps his tone light. 

“Is that so?” 

Will nods. “You told me about Achilles and Patroclus again. Only this time you added that some people believe the two were lovers.” 

He doesn’t turn to look but sees Hannibal's eyes widen slightly out of the corners of his eyes. 

“You also asked me if I like your hair like that.” 

He remembers the moment very clearly. Hannibal's voice had taken on something close to shyness. Will had laughed at the question, both confused and amused at the same time, and told him it makes him look younger. He neglected to tell him that he also thinks it’s handsome, and Hannibal was back asleep before he could consider mentioning it to him. 

Hannibal turns away from him, eyes focused on the road now. He taps his forefinger against his thigh. 

“I think I remember that.” This time it’s not a lie. 

Although he’s trying to keep his composure, Will can tell how deeply embarrassed Hannibal is by his actions. Embarrassed and vulnerable and scared. It terrifies Will how much he enjoys it. Not the power it gives him but this new perspective of Hannibal who is always so controlling, so proud. To this moment, Will hadn’t even considered Hannibal to be capable of feeling something like embarrassment. 

“Do you believe,” Hannibal starts, “that I am capable of love, Will?” 

Will snorts and it makes his shoulder sting. Of course, Hannibal would know what’s on his mind. Even when he's not in control, part of him still is. 

“Do _you_?” 

Hannibal laughs. Clearly, he hadn’t expected Will to say that. But he still knows it’s not his final answer so he waits, patiently, for Will to find the right words. 

“There’s something else you said to me. I can’t get it out of my head.” He smiles and doesn’t know why. “You said that whenever you think about me, you imagine cutting my heart out of my chest. Sometimes you eat it, sometimes you preserve it. Either way, you don’t want anyone else to have it.” He swallows, his throat tight suddenly. “Just a few days ago, I wouldn't have recognized that as love. I would think it’s hunger, desperation or just plain selfishness. But now, I’m not so sure. “ 

There’s a slight tremble in Hannibal's voice when he speaks. Will doesn’t dare look at him. 

“Your past self wouldn't have been wrong. Love is hunger, it's desperation. Sometimes it’s even selfishness.” He folds his hands in his lap again. “The thought of having your heart excited me. I knew you wouldn’t give it to me by your own will, which was _heart_ -wrenching, I suppose you might say.” 

He chuckles at his own joke but Will is focused on something else. 

“You’re using past tense.” 

He doesn’t say it to impress Hannibal with his perception like he would have when they first met. They are not two men trying to one-up each other as a strange form of flirtation. They don’t need to try to read each other’s minds anymore. Familiarity just causes it to happen. 

Will’s grip on the steering wheel is so tight it hurts his shoulder. 

“Yes,” Hannibal says. “The thought doesn’t bring me joy anymore.” 

“What does it bring now?” 

They are two monsters finding something human between them and trying not to eat it. 

Hannibal turns to him again. He wants to _see_ Will react, not just hear it. 

“Pain.” 

Will nods, trying to keep his breathing calm. He’s not nervous under Hannibal’s gaze like he would have been a few years back. Well, he _is_ nervous but it’s not out of fear. It’s anticipation mingling with excitement so heavy it’s almost suffocating. He doesn’t trust his voice to stay steady so he says nothing for a while and Hannibal lets him. The silence isn’t uncomfortable. Between them, it rarely ever is. 

“I know you want to hear me say it, Will,” Hannibal begins, “but I need you to be sure because I will never take it back.” 

“I know.” 

“Then you should also know that we can carry on as we always have. I will look at you like you hung the moon in the sky and you will look away. I’m content with that. I could even live with it.” 

“I couldn’t.” He feels Hannibal’s eyes on him and wants to see him, too but continues to watch the road. 

“Will.” 

“I need you to say it. Please.” 

“Could you go on with me, forever, if you knew?” 

“I think,” he says, contemplating the words even as he says them and realizing their truth, “I couldn’t go on at all if I didn’t.” 

“My heart–” Hannibal's voice cracks at the words and he sighs. “My heart breaks at the very sight of you, a thousand little pieces like shards of porcelain that find a home in my chest. But then you look back at me, and every piece falls into its place again. You can’t imagine how long I’ve ached for you, Will, you–” 

“Okay,” Will interrupts. He can’t take any more of it, not right now, or he’ll end up crashing the car. “Okay.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes. Yeah, just–” His voice trails off and he takes a deep breath. 

Hannibal wipes away the streaks of tears with his thumbs. “Does it terrify you? The depth of my love?” 

“Yes.” He nods, risking a glance at Hannibal. “Because I recognize it.” 

Hannibal takes an unsteady breath that releases through his nose. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, like he’s on the brink of saying something but deciding against it every time. 

Will wonders if Hannibal will be embarrassed later when reminded of how much he cried just now. He hopes he will be. The thought is so endearing, so utterly _human_ , that it makes his heart jump in his chest. 

“I don’t remember if I've ever felt this much light on me,” Hannibal says. 

Will glances at the sky to find it gray with clouds. He smiles. 

“Me neither.” 

* * * * * 

It doesn’t take long before the car signals them that it’s running out of gas. It's a good thing, considering they might have entirely forgotten about getting rid off it. There’s no way they wouldn’t get caught if they took a literal police car with them all the way. They would deserve it, too, for their stupidity. 

Being covered in blood is another obstacle on their way to safety and for a strange moment, simply taking off their clothes and walking around in their underwear sounds like a brilliant idea. After all, there’s a lot more appeal in looking like they woke up from the wildest night of their lives than looking like serial killers. But their bodies are scarred to a degree that can’t be passed off as the aftermath of a barfight and anyway, it’s far too cold outside. 

Maybe if it was summer they would have considered it. 

Instead, Will suggests parking the car somewhere close to the nearest small town but still far enough from it so that they won’t be spotted. According to Hannibal, they will be passing a small patch of forest soon and could take cover there. 

“You still know every step of the way after fifteen years? That’s impressive, Doctor,” Will says after a moment of hesitation. He doesn’t want to feed the man’s ego too much after all. 

“I memorized it when I had the time. As much as I hoped to avoid it, I knew I would eventually need to know the way by heart. Although,” he takes a quick peek at Will, “I imagined myself alone on that journey.” 

His words sound a bit too calculated, and Will feels as though Hannibal is setting them up to something. A moment of vulnerability, perhaps, for both of them. Will decides to play along. Curiosity always gets the best of him, although this time it’s mingled with something like anticipation. 

“I can still leave.” He makes sure Hannibal sees him look at him. “If you’d rather be alone.” 

“Is that what you think I want?” 

“I do.” Will nods. He prepares himself for discomfort and nausea at saying it out loud, and is surprised when they don’t come. “If whoever’s with you isn’t me.” 

Hannibal’s head tips just a bit lower, probably to stare at his hands. His smile is soft and thoughtful. 

“I’m glad to see you gaining confidence in my affection for you. It’s beautiful to watch you grow into it, like a flower blossoming in spring. I would never want to force that.” 

Will rolls his eyes, trying to ignore the way his face heats up at the words. 

“It horrifies me, actually.” 

“My affection?” 

Will huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “No, how much I _like_ it.” 

Hannibal smiles but doesn’t say anything. There’s something sharp but gentle about it and Will thinks of the two monsters again. He imagines them reaching towards each other now, longing for some form of intimacy or comfort. 

Before he lets the monsters shape themselves into familiar faces, Hannibal points at something outside. A dark spot in the landscape that takes the shape of trees as they get closer. 

“We’ve reached our destination.” 

“Thank God,” Will says, “my shoulder’s killing me.” 

Hannibal’s hand twitches in his lap like he wants to reach out and alleviate his pain but won’t let himself. He lays his hands flat on his thighs. There isn’t much he could do about it but Will appreciates the thought anyway. 

“You will have plenty of time to rest. It would be wise to stay out here until dawn and then walk into town.” 

Will smiles at the promise of sleep and takes a left turn into the woods. 

* * * * * 

It’s barely 9 am when Will parks the car amongst the trees. The forest feels like a monster then, gentle but endless, and it swallows them. The darkness, there in its belly, is comforting, though. It means they won’t be seen from the outside. At least not without someone having to come closer and peek into its open mouth. 

If that happens, well, there’s a reason they’ve made it this far. 

Will closes his eyes and collapses against the backrest with a grunt of pain that turns into a chuckle. He imagines Hannibal watching him, or trying not to, a soft smile on his face that matches his own. 

“For a second,” Will says, rubbing his eyes, “I was so excited about getting to sleep that I forgot we’ve still got a long way to go.” 

Hannibal shifts in his seat but Will doesn’t look to see why. 

“I apologize for that. I wish I could offer you a better place to sleep or at least something close to safety.” 

“Don’t apologize, Hannibal. There’s no place I’d rather be.” He leans his head against the window, arms folded in front of his chest. Fatigue, it seems, makes him honest. 

Hannibal sighs, content with his response for now. He doesn’t recognize his own words from earlier. 

“Sleep well, then.” He pauses. Whatever he wants to say is stuck in his throat. “I will watch over you.” 

Will chuckles. “Like God?” 

“God doesn’t watch over us, Will. He just watches.” 

The words make him smile although he doesn’t know why. His mind is cloudy with sleep already, something inside him pulling down, down, down until he can feel himself sink into it. Wherever it is that he goes, it’s warm there. 

He doesn’t dream of Molly like he feared he would. He imagined she would be there, in their bedroom or on the cliff with him and Hannibal, screaming and crying and, maybe, he would kill her in the end. Or, worse than that, she would forgive him. 

He doesn’t dream of Jack or Alana or Abigail, nor his dogs despite hoping he would. 

He dreams, instead, of his old house. It’s bright outside, and in front of him, two figures clad in shadow are dancing to something soft and slow he can’t put a name to. They are holding onto each other, almost violently, as they sway gently to the music. Two pairs of antlers begin to sprout from their heads like vines, so similar they might as well come from the same body. 

The antlers tangle and intertwine where they meet in the air, like two hands grasping each other for the first time. 

* * * * * 

When Will opens his eyes, it’s so dark he wouldn’t know where he is if he didn’t remember it. His neck aches when he moves to straighten himself in his seat, and he rubs the spot to soothe the pain. Luckily, he also remembers not to choose the injured arm. 

“Did you sleep well?” 

He jumps slightly at the voice. Although he knew Hannibal would be there, he hadn’t expected him to speak up so soon. 

“I–” He interrupts himself with a yawn. “I think so, yeah.” 

“I’m glad to hear that.” He smiles, probably. “Did you have any exciting dreams?” 

The glint of Hannibal’s eyes as they reflect the moon is the only other thing visible to him. Everything else about Hannibal is still shadow-soaked. 

Will frowns. “Why? Did I say anything?” 

Panic wakes up in his chest and tries to climb up his throat. He doesn’t know what he could have said but it can’t be good. Or, rather, not good for _him_. 

“You have nothing to worry about, Will, I’m just making conversation.” 

“Right.” Will snorts. “You definitely don’t want to analyze my dreams.” 

Hannibal smiles, a hint of teeth visible for less than a second. It makes Will’s heart jump in his chest although he can’t decide if it’s out of fear or something else, something he doesn’t want to give a name to even if he could. 

“Just as I don’t suspect you to hide the contents of your dreams because you don’t want me to know what you saw.” 

He considers telling him about the two figures. They’ve been through so much together, have confessed horrible things to each other, that it doesn’t seem like this particular detail would matter. But he doesn’t want him to know. At least not yet. 

“I’ll tell you about my dreams if I think it’s necessary that you know about them.” He turns to Hannibal and smiles, licking his lips. “You have nothing to worry about.” 

Hannibal, amused at having his own words used against him, smiles back, and for a moment they just stare at each other, neither of them ashamed to be caught in the act. They hadn’t truly looked at each other since they killed the Dragon. Will had forgotten how intoxicating it feels to look at him so openly and have him look back. He couldn’t imagine himself ever growing tired of it – which is terrifying in its own way. 

“Did you watch me while I was asleep?” 

“Until my eyes grew heavy.” 

Will grins. “You could’ve woken me up if you were too tired.” 

“But I couldn’t, Will.” Hannibal’s face softens, almost as if melting. “The mere thought of waking you felt like an act of violence.” 

_I want to cup his face in my hands and_ – 

Will looks away, biting his bottom lip to keep it from trembling. He reaches for the car’s keys and turns them in the ignition to check the time. 

“9:48? I slept for ten hours?” He laughs, incredulous. “Damn, looks like I really needed it.” 

Hannibal’s quiet sigh at the curse word makes Will smile. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to get some rest before we leave? I could watch over _you_ this time.” 

“Thank you for the offer, Will,” Hannibal says, not looking at him, “but I'm fine. I promise.” 

Will doesn’t roll his eyes at the lie although it’s hard to resist the urge. He could probably convince Hannibal to take a nap but it would take some time, maybe hours, and he only had so much patience. 

And anyway, the faster they went, the sooner they would get there. Whatever “there” will turn out to be. 

“Alright then, Doctor Lecter, what’s your plan?” 

Hannibal smiles and Will feels himself smiling back in the same manner. There’s something almost child-like about it. 

“I think it’s time we acquire some bicycles.” 

* * * * * 

The walk to town takes a lot longer than they anticipated but Will tries to stay positive. The evening air is refreshing and, despite the pain in his shoulder and cheek, he feels better than he has in a while. His old life seems so far away, when he imagines himself with his family, it's like looking at a picture of someone else. That Will looks just like him and not like him at all. He's there, he can see him so clearly. And yet, somehow, he’s missing. 

Hannibal has one hand resting lightly on his stomach where the bullet hole lies beneath layers of fabric and gauze, and tries to keep his breathing steady. 

“I wanted to apologize, Will. For being so curious about your dreams,” he says suddenly, as if he felt Will’s concern for him and wants to distract him from it. 

“It's fine.” Will shrugs. “You just surprised me so I got defensive.” 

_Two_ _shadows dancing._

“Why were you surprised?” 

Will laughs. Only Hannibal would ask why it surprised him to be questioned about his dreams immediately after waking up. Although, of course, that’s not what he’s asking. 

“Do you really want to know me so desperately, Hannibal?” Will has been gnawing at the question ever since he woke up. “All of me, even what I see in my dreams?” 

They don’t stop walking although Will wishes they would. He almost doesn’t see the way Hannibal flicks his tongue over his bottom lip, how his eyes close for a moment before they focus on him. 

“Would that be so bad?” 

_Like two hands grasping each other._

“Well, _you’re_ not the one who has to open up.” He tries to stuff his hands in his pockets but stops when his shoulder burns at the sharp movement. 

“I believe that letting yourself be known is the highest form of intimacy. It’s a kind of undressing. There is something so frightening about letting someone see you for who, or what, you really are.” 

Will wants to ask Hannibal why he doesn’t let himself be known then when he realizes he _has._ No one knows Hannibal like he does which is a kind of privilege. He’s always understood that. It’s just that he’s only now starting to enjoy having it. 

“It can also be nice,” he suggests, tone nonchalant. 

Hannibal’s laugh is soft and quiet. There’s something in his eyes when he looks at him that causes Will's stomach to drop. The feeling is as horrible as it is addictive, and he thinks, in that moment, that he wants Hannibal to know. 

“About my dream, uh–" He clears his throat and ignores the panic in his chest. “I dreamt about us.” He swallows, hoping it will make the tremble in his voice disappear. “It was beautiful.” 

“Because you killed me?” He says it as if talking about the weather. 

“Because neither of us died.” 

When Hannibal remains silent except for a sharp intake of breath, Will looks at him. He sees his gentle smile, sees his eyes brimming with tears. 

He looks at Hannibal, and Hannibal lets himself be seen. 

* * * * * 

The plan is to look for bicycles that aren’t locked to anything so it won’t look like someone _really_ needed them. Bicycles get stolen all the time but if someone forcefully removes a lock, they look desperate. The fact that they’re looking for _two_ doesn’t exactly help their case. They may be far from the house on the cliff – which should be discovered in a few days, according to Hannibal – but they could never be far enough. Every decision had to be considered carefully. 

If the situation had allowed it, they wouldn’t even have taken the police car this far with them. They would have, instead, driven it into the closest large body of water and watch it swallow. 

They move in the shadows of the town, as if lurking in the dark, and talk as little as possible. Aside from lowering the possibility of attracting attention, Will also doesn’t want Hannibal to waste his energy, which seems to be fleeting at a worrying pace, on talking to him. 

Despite seeing a lot of bicycles, they only come across one that isn’t locked up or bound to anything. Hannibal seems frustrated by this. Will, however, sees it as a sign. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Will whispers. He leans closer to Hannibal who tenses up slightly when their shoulders brush. “We could just take one bike and share it.” 

Hannibal watches Will. It’s too dark to see his eyes so Will can’t tell what’s going through his mind. 

“It would be less suspicious,” he admits, then turns away from him. “How do you want to go about it?” 

“Uh, one of us sits in the front and the other holds on to him. Right?” 

_I want to_ – 

“That seems like the most efficient way to do it.” 

There’s a strange tightness in Hannibal's voice. Will only notices now that his hands are clenched to loose fists at his sides. It feels wrong seeing his stomach uncovered, like his wound could rip open again any second now. Will is overcome with the urge to put his own hand there so no more of Hannibal can spill out. 

“I’d prefer you to sit in the back if you don’t mind,” Hannibal says. “It's my turn to drive us.” 

“Actually, I do mind because you can barely walk.” 

“Do I have to explain to you how one goes about riding a bicycle, Will?” 

His tone is light, teasing, but there’s something off about it. He doesn’t look over his shoulder to meet Will's eyes. 

Will laughs, quietly. “Oh, fuck off, you know exactly what I mean.” 

“Yes. Although it’s hardly an excuse to be crude.” 

Will sighs, rubbing his eyes. A beat passes where neither of them moves, and Will isn’t sure if time passes at all. Hannibal is so still he might as well be frozen in place. His breathing, though, is so heavy Will worries that maybe he was right about his wound tearing open. 

“Look at me,” he says and watches as some of the tension in Hannibal’s shoulder disappears. “Please.” 

He turns, slowly, as if it takes a lot of strength to move. Once Will can see his face clearly, he understands why. 

“I apologize,” Hannibal says. His hand settles on his abdomen again. “You have to know I would carry you to the end of the world, Will. Even if I had no trace of strength in my body.” 

Will stifles a sigh of relief. At least Hannibal isn’t hurt. 

“And you believe I wouldn’t do the same for you.” 

“I believe that not a single person in the history of humankind has ever felt the way I feel about you.” 

Will opens his mouth to reply but what could he possibly say to that? There’s something so physically overwhelming about Hannibal’s love that it knocks every word he's ever known out of him. So what Will does instead is reach up with his good arm, slowly but without hesitation, and place his palm on the other man's cheek. This time Hannibal does lean into it, letting out a soft sigh as he relaxes into the touch. 

“Believe it or not, Hannibal, there’s another person.” He grins briefly. “You’re not as special as you think.” 

Hannibal’s eyes fall shut as he laughs, breathlessly. Will _feels_ him clear his throat rather than hearing it and, somehow, that feels more intimate than the touch itself. 

“Are you sure, Will?” 

He considers nodding but Hannibal might not notice it so he says, “Yes,” and ignores how his throat tightens. 

When he pulls his hand away, Hannibal moves with him for less than a second, as if he can’t bear to let go just yet. It makes Will smile, his heart pounding in his chest. 

_I want to touch him_ _again. I want to cup his face in both of my hands – like_ _someone_ _would hold onto water in the desert._ _I_ _don’t_ _want to twist_ _until I_ _hear the_ snap _of breaking bones._

_I want to cup his face in both of my hands and put my mouth there._

He waits for the shame to come at the thought, and smiles, brilliantly, when it doesn’t. 

* * * * * 

After a brief and, admittedly, rather awkward adjustment period, the rest of the ride goes about as smooth as they expected. Finding the perfect balance with Hannibal in the back takes some time, especially considering Will hasn’t been on a bicycle in over a decade. They even have to stop once so Hannibal can switch positions. 

He started out with both legs on either side but found that keeping himself upright is too much of a strain on his abdominal muscles. Once he switches to a different position, legs dangling off only one side now, it still takes a few minutes of reassurances that he can and, in fact, _should_ lean against Will’s back to rest his body until he actually does so. It takes even longer to convince him to slip his arm around Will's waist so he won't fall off. 

Will feels his heartbeat in his throat. Something weighs heavy in his gut and it’s not the pressure of Hannibal’s hand. His face has grown so numb that at first, he doesn’t recognize the permanent grimace plastered there as a smile. 

But, to his own surprise, he's excited to the point of giddiness, feeling almost like a teenager again. He isn’t sure what his voice would sound like now but he imagines it higher than usual, imagines himself incapable of getting through a sentence without his voice cracking in the middle of it. 

He decides to test it out and is slightly disappointed when he sounds very much the same. 

“You’re not gonna die on me, are you?” 

He keeps his tone light, humorous, although the truth is he wouldn’t be asking if he didn’t consider it a possibility. The fact that Hannibal has been quiet this whole time, aside from the occasional heavy breath, is as worrying as it is welcome. 

Hannibal moves his head slightly across his shoulder to get closer to Will’s ear, presumably so he won't have to raise his voice too much. 

“Nothing could take me from you, Will. Not even death.” 

He hadn’t expected to be able to feel Hannibal’s breath on his skin and his body reacts to it with a light shiver. 

“Is that your way of telling me you feel fine?” 

Will is almost certain he can feel Hannibal’s smile where his face is pressed to his back although he can’t be sure. 

“While I _am_ a bit tired, I promise you needn't worry about me.” 

“Well, as long as you don’t fall off, I don’t mind if you want to get some sleep.” 

There’s a small part of him that wouldn’t only “not mind” but welcome it, too, if Hannibal fell asleep. 

_I want to carry him to safety._ _I want to take care of him in whatever way he will let me._

“I fear it's not entirely up to me if I’ll be able to sleep here or not.” 

Will doesn’t reply, waiting for Hannibal to explain himself. 

“There’s a quote from Harry Salmenniemi's _Within The Mirror_ that has been stuck in my mind like a splinter ever since I first read it. Although, I admit, I didn’t truly understand it until recently.” 

“I hope you don’t expect me to know what you’re talking about.” 

“No,” he shifts closer to Will's ear, almost absentmindedly if Hannibal were capable that, “but I thought I should give you the chance to surprise me.” 

He smiles, shaking his head. The skin that's closest to Hannibal's mouth begins to feel hot and Will is very grateful for the dark. 

“ _It was a question of passion_ _,_ _the fact that I loved you so intensely that I couldn’t sleep next to you._ ” 

Will’s heart beats violently in his chest. The warmth at the base of his neck now spreads through his entire body. He imagines this is what it feels like to be set on fire. Although, considering Frederick Chilton, that’s probably not true. 

He swallows, not entirely sure if he could trust his voice otherwise. 

“I never took you for a person that needs to borrow someone else's words to express himself.” 

“There are things that have been said so perfectly,” Hannibal says, “to try and rephrase them would be a waste of time.” 

They fall into silence. What Hannibal admitted feels so much like a confession that Will isn’t sure if he’s supposed to react to it at all or stay quiet and wait for whatever he has to say next. 

“I can’t say I understand how you feel. I always sleep much better with company,” he says after a while. “But maybe telling me about it helped. Maybe keeping it locked up inside is what made it true.” 

Hannibal doesn’t respond, already snoring softly against his shoulder, and Will appreciates it for the answer that it is. 

* * * * * 

Although Will drives for a very long time, he barely tires. His mind is clearer, sharper than it has been in ages and the ache in his muscles feels almost cathartic. There are a few times where he considers waking Hannibal because he has the sudden urge to talk to him but decides against it. Somehow, he feels heroic, like he’s carrying Hannibal to safety, riding them towards the rising sun on the horizon. Nothing in the world could stop him in his tracks. 

Apart from reaching their destination, of course. 

Will comes to a halt in front of the forest he believes should contain the second safe house. Hannibal stirs awake then, as if an alarm sounded off somewhere in his head. He lets out a small, quiet groan and Will imagines him squeezing his eyes shut against the blinding daylight as he had done in the car. The thought tugs at the strings of his heart. 

“My back must be pretty comfortable.” 

Hannibal leans away from him, slowly, and slips off his seat. 

“Frankly, I can’t imagine a less comfortable place to sleep.” His voice is slightly hoarse. “But I suppose it's not so much about the part of the body as it is about the person it's attached to.” 

Will climbs off the bicycle, too, and his breath catches in his throat at the sight before him. Hannibal is straightening his clothes and hair but Will still sees the beautiful imperfection there before it disappears. The procedure reminds him of a cat grooming itself, and he has to hold back a laugh. 

Hannibal leads the way into the woods and Will keeps a safe distance between them to avoid hitting his calves with the bicycle’s front wheel. With every step further, the trees seem to grow closer together until they can only see a few meters ahead of them. Will is sure he would get lost here and never find his way back out. But Hannibal’s steps carry confidence and certainty, and Will trusts that he knows where he's taking them. Although, of course, he isn’t quite sure yet where that is. 

“Do you want to talk about what’s on your mind, Will?” 

He swallows his frustration at being so easy to read. “What makes you think there’s something on my mind?” 

“There are several indicators,” Hannibal says. He steps over a large branch and it’s not something that should look elegant but it does, somehow. “But what I find the most convincing is that there's a lot on my mind as well.” 

Will shakes his head. “Right. And instead of talking about your own feelings, you want _me_ to expose myself.” 

“I'd like to think it's for your benefit, not mine.” He gives him a quick look over his shoulder. “And I gave you a choice, didn’t I? I simply pointed out the obvious because I knew you wouldn’t.” 

He rolls his eyes. “You’re insufferable sometimes.” 

“Is that what you were thinking about?” There’s amusement in his voice. 

“I am _now._ " He chuckles. “But no, I was actually thinking about the fact that I'm following the FBI’s most-wanted to a cabin in the woods and I'm even not sure I'd know the way back.” 

“And how does that make you feel?” 

“Like I may be naïve after all, or just very stupid. Possibly both.” 

He makes sure to keep his tone light. Although there’s a possibility that Hannibal has been tricking him this whole time, he doesn’t actually believe that. He trusts himself to know Hannibal well enough to somewhat decipher his intentions. He also trusts Hannibal to show his true intentions to him, even if it’s in his own twisted way. 

“Those words don’t sound like yours. Who put them in your mouth?” 

“Bedelia,” Will says after a second of hesitation. His mouth curves into a smile that bears more amusement than fondness. He wonders what– 

“What would she think of you if she saw us?” 

Will snorts. “That we're even less alike than she thought.” 

“You and I?” 

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I think she hoped that, despite everything she knew I was, I would find it in me to be afraid of you when the time comes. That I would fear you more than I could,” he lowers his voice almost unconsciously, “love you.” 

“And do you?” 

There's anticipation behind those words along with desperation. He knows the answer, it's already implied. But he wants and _needs_ to hear it from him. 

“I’m following you despite the warning signs, Hannibal.” He smirks, staring at Hannibal’s back as to not miss even the slightest reaction. “Doesn't that answer your question? 

Hannibal’s shoulder blades shift under his shirt. Then he stops walking and waits for Will to walk up beside him. 

“Do you see it, Will? Between the two trees growing from the same stump?” 

Will almost makes a sarcastic comment about there being trees literally everywhere when he does see it, the wood cabin between the trees. Temporary or not, this will be their home in the foreseeable future. 

_Between the two trees growing from the same stump_. 

He smiles. “It's hard to miss.” 

* * * * * 

The first thing Will notices is the smell: old wood and dust and something like mold. What catches him off guard is that he doesn’t hate it. There's something homely about it. Although, realistically, that might be a trick of his mind to make him feel like he belongs here. 

The cabin is actually one large room with a bed on one side and a kitchen on the other. Through a window in the back, he spots a much smaller hut that looks like it might be the bathroom. He had hoped there would be a proper bathroom, preferably with a shower or even a bathtub, but it's better than nothing. 

In the middle of the room lies an old rug that looks like it used to be brown before it turned gray. On the left side, in the kitchen, a few cupboards hang on the wall. Below them are an oven and a small workspace with a sink. In front of them is a small dining table with one chair. 

Will closes the door behind him. Hannibal has already taken up the task of looking through the drawers and cupboards. 

“Well, it's not much,” Will says, taking a few hesitant steps into the room, “but I like it.” 

Hannibal’s movements are quick, almost frantic, as he checks the water tap – which works – and the oven – which doesn’t. He turns to the table and chair, making sure they're still usable. 

“It's barely anything,” he says, looking up at Will for a moment before rushing to the other side of the room. There's a quiet anger in his voice that surprises Will, despite knowing that it’s not directed at him. 

“I thought _I'm_ supposed to be the nervous one.” 

Hannibal picks up the pillows one by one and inspects them, then does the same with the blankets. He has his back to Will so it's difficult to tell whether he's pleased with their conditions or not. 

“Do you still see yourself that way?” 

“No,” Will smiles, hoping it shows in his voice, “but I see _you_ that way.” 

Curiosity awakened, Hannibal turns around, folding the blanket neatly and letting it fall on the bed. He clasps his hands in front of him, probably in an effort to stop himself from fidgeting. 

“What do you want me to do, Will?” 

He isn't just asking because he wants to fulfill Will's every wish – although that’s relevant as well – but because he himself doesn’t know what to do. It might be the closest Hannibal Lecter will ever get to helplessness. There’s something so humane about it that Will can’t help but smile. 

“I want you to stop moving around so much.” 

“I am.” 

Will sighs through his nose. “And I want you to tell me what’s on your mind.” 

“Well, that’s only fair.” Hannibal picks up the second blanket on the bed to fold it, too. “I suppose I may be quite frustrated that I didn’t get the chance to prepare this cabin for your arrival. Considering that you’re my guest, it seems unspeakably rude.” 

“I'm not your guest, Hannibal. I live here now, too. And I’ll stay for as long as you, and the rest of the world, will let me.” 

“That's a very dangerous thing to say, Will.” He walks towards him, watching Will curiously, hands behind his back. “The world might want you to stay forever.” 

_I wan_ _t_ _–_

“I think I wouldn’t mind that.” 

At that Hannibal turns and walks to the kitchen. He opens a cupboard to take out two glasses, filling them both with water. He carries them over to Will and offers one to him. Will hadn’t even noticed how thirsty he was until he came across the possibility of having a drink. 

“Do you really believe you could stay here?” 

He looks around the room. Somehow, he can’t imagine what it would look like without Hannibal in it. 

“I want to be where you are,” Will says and is surprised by how easily the words slip off his tongue. 

He lifts his glass and starts to drink the whole thing, not looking away from Hannibal as he does so. 

“Do you trust me not to take advantage of that?” 

Will finishes his water and wipes his mouth with his thumb. Hannibal watches the movement intently. 

“Do _you_?” 

Hannibal’s mouth twitches into a small smile. They change the topic after that. 

* * * * * 

Will dreams of driving. Sometimes he's in the passenger seat, sometimes he is the driver. He turns to the person next to him and stares either at his own face or Hannibal's. The last time he looks, he can’t decide whose eyes are meeting his. 

At one point, they – Will is the driver – stop in the middle of the road, surrounded by trees and the absence of light. The car's doors open at once and, suddenly, Molly is in the passenger seat with Wally in the back. Molly smiles at Will and kisses his cheek. The flesh there rips open but the pain is distant, like it belongs to someone else. He drives them for a while as Molly recalls the night she and her son almost died. 

Will doesn’t apologize and drives the car off a cliff. He looks to his left, searching for the anger in Molly's eyes, and finds Hannibal next to him instead, who smiles as they crash into the sea. 

Slowly, the car fills with water. Will closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. The taste of copper fills his mouth. The water is so much warmer than he imagined, almost comforting, if only he wasn’t on the kitchen floor now, feeling the insides of his stomach in the palm of his hand while Abigail dies beside him. 

He dreams, again, of driving. Or maybe he is just in a car with Hannibal beside him, asking if he wants to stay with him forever. Will responds by kissing Hannibal, and every wound on his body reopens at once. 

They all close again, gently, as if holding their breaths, when Hannibal kisses him back. 

* * * * * 

The first thing Will notices when he wakes up is the terrible ache in his legs. He should have seen it coming, of course, but riding the bicycle had come so easily, so _naturally_ to him in the moment that it hadn’t even occurred to him that doing so for hours without a break would have consequences. 

What comes as another surprise is the new smell. With his eyes closed, he can almost imagine himself somewhere else, home, maybe, wherever that is. His mouth waters as he takes in the smell of whatever Hannibal made them for dinner. He’s so hungry it makes his stomach cramp. 

Will opens his eyes, and the room is lit in a warm light. It takes him a moment to spot the candles on the windowsills and next to the sink. Across from him, Hannibal is leaning over the two plates on the table, taking his time arranging their food to what Will assumes is going to be perfection. 

The bed creaks under him when he folds back the covers. Hannibal’s face softens but he doesn’t look up. 

“Did you sleep well?” 

“Yeah.” It's the truth, he feels thoroughly rested. He grimaces when he pushes himself up and plants his feet on the floor. “My legs hurt like hell, though.” 

Hannibal makes a small _tsk_ sound. “Well, it wasn’t very smart of you to ride the bicycle for so long.” 

“Oh, really?” He grins. “You didn’t exactly seem to mind.” 

Hannibal's hands hover in the air for just a second too long, as if embarrassed. He recovers quickly, picking up the plates and placing them on the workspace next to the sink. 

“Are you hungry yet?” 

Will huffs a laugh. “Starving, actually.” He puts a hand on his stomach as if that proves the point. 

“I thought so,” Hannibal says and, without a warning, picks up the table and carries it over to the bed. 

“What are you–“ 

He places the table in front of Will as quietly as possible. 

“It always makes such a terrible noise when you push it,” Hannibal says as if that's what Will wanted to know. He goes back and picks up the chair, carrying it over as well. “Do you mind sitting on the bed while we eat? I would prefer the chair.” 

“Uh, sure, I don’t care.” 

Truly, he’s never cared less about anything in the world. The table is low enough that it won’t make much of a difference for him anyway. 

Hannibal picks up the two plates along with their cutlery and carries them using only one of his hands. The other holds a large candle that he places between them. Once he’s finished arranging everything to his liking, he sits down across from Will. 

The food on the plate looks like it came from a can but, somehow, Hannibal managed to make it appetizing. Or maybe Will is just very, _very_ hungry. 

“Thank you,” Will says as he grabs a spoon. “Honestly, thank you so much.” 

“Don’t you want to know what you’re about to eat, Will?” There's amusement in his voice. 

“Unless it’s poisoned, I don’t really care.” He takes his first spoonful and tries not to moan at the taste of it. He swallows before continuing. “As far as I’m concerned, this is the best thing I've ever had.” 

Hannibal chuckles. “I will try not to be offended by that.” 

They eat in comfortable silence. 

* * * * * 

After Will finishes his dinner, he has to suppress the urge to lick the plate. While part of him is curious about how Hannibal would react to something so uncivilized, he doesn’t actually want to find out. Not now, at least. Instead, he uses his fork to scrape the plate as clean as possible, doing so with a comical precision and focus. 

He only notices Hannibal watching him once he's done. There's so much open adoration in his expression that Will has to avert his eyes. 

“I can prepare something else if you’re still hungry.” 

Will shakes his head and is about to politely refuse when he spots something on the other side of the room, under the window, that he hadn't seen before. He frowns. 

“Is that,” he leans forward, squinting as if that will help him see better, “a record player?” 

Hannibal smiles. “I wasn’t sure if you'd notice it without the help of daylight.” 

Will laughs in disbelief. Of course Hannibal would have a record player in every place he lives in. He had probably hidden it under the house, covered by a few loose floorboards. What surprises Will more is how excited he is at the prospect of listening to music. After all, it's not something he’s ever been particularly interested in. 

“Does it work?” 

“I’m not sure. I wanted to wait until you were awake before I test it.” Hannibal places his spoon on the plate before carefully pushing back his chair. 

As Will watches him get closer to the record player, he wonders if Hannibal is lying to him. He can hardly imagine that Hannibal would even have brought up the whole thing if he was unsure if the record player would actually work. He wouldn't risk disappointing Will like that. 

A few minutes pass as Hannibal carefully takes the record out of its case and prepares everything. Then, suddenly, music begins to play, and Will can no longer bring himself to care about whether Hannibal had known this would happen or not. 

“Bach?” It's not a serious guess, just the first classical musician that comes to his mind. He's not even sure that he could name a single composition that would fit the name. 

Hannibal chuckles. “No, but I appreciate the effort.” 

As he sits back down across from Will, he begins to explain who they’re listening to, taking a few breaks in-between to finish the last bits of his dinner. Will pretends to memorize the information but, in all honesty, he isn't paying much attention to Hannibal’s words. The tone of his voice, warm with an underlying passion for the subject, is far more interesting to him. 

“I think you'll have to explain that again at some point,” he says. 

It feels like admitting something embarrassing although Hannibal doesn’t seem to see it that way. He just smiles softly. 

“I’ll explain it a hundred times over if you need me to.” 

Will snorts. “That may sound nice but you'd just get annoyed.” 

“And you think I'd let my frustration show?” 

“No,” he says without a second thought. 

Something comes to his mind, then; something that could either turn out to be a horrible idea or the best he's ever had. Hannibal seems so at peace, letting his eyes flutter shut as he enjoys the music, that he’s not sure if he wants to ruin the moment. So he contemplates the idea, twists and turns it to inspect every possible outcome, and finds the risk could be worth it. 

_I want_ , he begins to think. Then, _what’s stopping me?_

“So,” he says, “are we going to dance?” 

Hannibal’s expression barely changes when he opens his eyes. Will has to give it to him: He genuinely looks like he hadn't quite heard him. 

“Pardon?” 

“Don’t make me say it again.” It sounds more like a plea than he intended. 

Hannibal clasps his hands in front of him. His shoulders are tense, almost stiff, but there’s an undeniable curiosity in his eyes. 

“I didn’t think you’d know how to dance.” 

“I don’t.” Will grins. “Which means you get the privilege of being my teacher.” 

Hannibal's hand twists around his other wrist. It’s obvious how much he wants to look away but he doesn’t let himself. 

“Are you sure, Will?” 

Will begins to scoot to the edge of the bed, away from the table, to stand up. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He walks to the center of the room and turns to Hannibal, hands clasped behind his back in an attempt to make himself look less awkward and insecure. 

Hannibal considers him, probably realizing how pointless it is to argue against something he wants as well. He pushes his chair back, as quietly as possible, and gets up, not taking his eyes off Will. 

“I don’t want you to strain your shoulder too much,” he says once he comes to a stop in front of him. 

Will laughs, a little breathless now that they’re so close. “You were shot in the stomach. I think my shoulder’ll be fine.” 

“If you say so.” 

There’s a tightness in Hannibal's voice that Will recognizes as nervousness. It hadn’t occurred to him until this moment that Hannibal may have thought about this before, dreamt of it even. Not in his sleep, like Will had, but during the day. 

His chest tightens at the thought. He can’t quite tell if it’s a good feeling or not. 

Will waits for Hannibal to move, expecting him to want to take charge of the situation, but he doesn’t, as if frozen in fear. To break the ice, Will grabs a gentle hold of Hannibal’s wrist and places it on his own waist. It just rests there, the grip remaining loose. Then he puts his hand on Hannibal's shoulder. 

His lack of engagement doesn’t frustrate Will at all, which is what he would have expected. In fact, he understands it, understands the fear of causing Will any kind of discomfort. And it means he has to take a different approach. 

“Hannibal, don’t you think it's rude to make me do all the work?” 

In response, Hannibal lifts his unoccupied arm, palm turned towards Will. He lets it hover there in the air and Will’s eyes catch sight of the large scar on the inside of his wrist. A smile tugs at his lips. 

“I had almost forgotten about those.” His voice is barely above a whisper, as if talking to himself. 

He curls his free hand around Hannibal’s wrist, tracing the scar there with his thumb. His smile widens at the shuddery breath it elicits from Hannibal. He moves his hand upwards to entwine their fingers, and holds his breath at how intimate it feels. 

These past days, he’s thought about holding Hannibal’s hand in his own so much that seeing it come true is almost surreal. 

“Are you-” 

“Yes,” Will interrupts. He gives Hannibal’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “Show me. Please.” 

“Of course.” Hannibal clears his throat and straightens his posture, tilting his chin up. “Move with me.” 

Will nods, his chest tight. He isn’t too fond of the idea of embarrassing himself by being a slow learner or, worse, a horrible dancer, especially if he’s right and Hannibal _has_ thought about this before. But it’s a risk he’s willing to take. 

Hannibal begins to sway slowly along with the music. It’s easy to follow once Will picks up on the rhythm. He waits for Hannibal to introduce new steps, to make it more difficult and extravagant like they both know he’s capable of, but nothing of the sort happens. 

“Is that it?” 

Hannibal frowns slightly. “Are you disappointed?” 

“No. I just thought you'd teach me how to waltz or something.” 

“I could but it wouldn't quite fit this piece.” He smiles. “And I suppose there's always time for other dances, isn’t there?” 

Warmth spreads in Will's chest. “I think you might be right,” he says, hoping Hannibal understands it as the definite _Yes_ that it is. 

They fall into a slow, comfortable rhythm, bodies illuminated by the warm glow of candles. After a while, Will feels himself leaning forward almost unconsciously, as if being pulled in by some unknown force. Their bodies drift closer and closer until, at last, there’s no space left between them. 

Tentatively, Will rests his head against Hannibal's shoulder, testing how it feels. He hears a pounding heart and isn’t sure whether it belongs to Hannibal or him. A few years ago, he read about the possibility of lovers’ heartbeats synchronizing over time. Maybe, if he listens close enough, it will happen to them. He wonders if it could. 

“Is this okay?” 

If Hannibal was taller, he might have tugged Will’s head under his chin. For now, he just rests his cheek against Will’s temple. 

“It’s perfect.” 

They sway in silence – two figures bathing in light. Will keeps waiting for the skin on his back and at the base of his neck to rip open, waits for the antlers to grow from him, but nothing happens. If there are monsters in the room, they’re hiding in the shadows tonight. 

Will slips his arm around Hannibal’s waist to pull him closer. In return, Hannibal slides his hand up Will’s back – slowly, so Will can stop him at any time – until he can bury his fingers in the hair at the back of his head. They refuse to let go of each other’s hands, though. 

There’s no force in the world that could tear them apart. 

Suddenly, his mind begins to chant at him. _I want_ , _I want,_ _I want,_ it says, quiet at first, then growing louder until it becomes impossible to ignore. He gently pulls his head away from Hannibal’s chest and leans back so he can look at him. 

Hannibal’s expression is one of curiosity and anticipation, but he doesn’t say anything. He lets Will look at him, lets himself be seen. It’s impossible to tell whether he knows what’s going to happen next or not, so Will’s drops the hand that had been resting on Hannibal’s back and reaches up to cup his face instead. 

Hannibal’s eyes widen slightly, his breathing quickens although he tries to keep it quiet. He hadn’t known what Will was planning to do, then. Not until now, anyway. 

“Will, are you–” 

“No.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “But I will be.” 

_I want to kiss him_ , he thinks. So he does. 

Eventually, the record stops playing but they continue to dance, utterly lost in the movements and the fact of their bodies existing so close to one another. Even if they notice the absence of music, it couldn't matter less. Right now, they care about the soft shuffling of their feet against the carpet, the rustling of their clothes, their synchronized breathing and hearts. 

It’s the most beautiful song either of them has ever heard. 


	2. moment's silence (common tongue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will settles into his new life with Hannibal. It's easier than he expected—until it isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know if this actually counts as a second chapter but it does take place in the same "universe" as the last part and is a continuation of that so.. maybe it IS a second chapter lmao
> 
> anyway, if you liked the first part, have this as a little treat! i can't promise there will be a third part but who knows
> 
> credit for the title goes to mr hozier... if you know the song, you might know where this story is going

What surprises Will the most about his new life in the woods is how easily Hannibal and him fall into a routine with each other. While they’ve always been somewhat in sync with one another, as if reading each other’s minds or even sharing one, Will hadn't expected normalcy to come so easily to them. 

There are a few aspects about living with Hannibal that he had to get used to, though, which is what he expected. Even after sharing a bed for several weeks now, Will has to fight the urge to flinch whenever he opens his eyes and finds Hannibal staring at him. It’s flattering, really, that he doesn’t tire of Will’s face. But when he caught Hannibal in the act on their very first morning together, it made him uncomfortable. Which is why he decided to ask him about it. 

“You have a very handsome face,” Hannibal had said. “I can't be the first person to tell you that.” 

His nonchalance had almost made Will blush. He’s always been somewhat aware of his looks and decided they didn’t matter to him. But to hear the compliment from Hannibal so directly had excited him. 

“And here I thought you’re trying to guess what I'm dreaming about.” 

It turned out that he had been right. While Hannibal liked to look at Will for the sake of seeing him, the urge to _know_ him, too, was just as strong. 

Will understands the appeal of that, and, eventually, it stopped bothering him. If anything, it felt unfair not to be given the chance to watch Hannibal, so fully at peace as he sleeps, in return. It’s not that he never tried to catch him still asleep—only that he never succeeded at it. 

During their first few nights together, he used to think that Hannibal woke up before Will on purpose just so he could watch him in the morning. He wouldn’t have put it past him to have that kind of control over his body. But it was such a ridiculous thing to lose hours of sleep over and he couldn’t imagine that Hannibal didn’t care about his fatigue throughout the day. He was good at hiding it but Will knew him well enough to notice the signs of dwindling mental capacity in him. Although, to anyone else, he might have seemed perfectly normal. 

On their fourth night together, they lay next to each other in silence, both of them staring at the wooden boards on the ceiling. There was a dark spot on one of them, right above his head, that Will had been meaning to inspect during the day, but by the time he woke up he didn’t remember it. 

“Hannibal?” 

“Yes?” 

“When were you going to tell me that you haven’t slept since we got here?” 

He tried to hide his frustration, knowing that Hannibal would never _choose_ not to sleep, but they could have already solved the problem, whatever it was, days ago, if Hannibal had just told him about it. It was hard to keep his voice light.

“I wasn't. And besides, Will, I did sleep. Just today I passed out on the floor when you were out to buy groceries.” 

Will’s eyes widened and he turned his head so quickly that his shoulder stung in response. 

“What? Are you kidding me?” 

Hannibal blinked at him and smiled. 

“Yes. I apologize, I wanted to lighten the mood.” 

“You wanted—” He frowned, then broke into a small chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “Not how I would've done it but okay. So you haven’t been sleeping?” 

Hannibal sighed through his nose. “I fall asleep sometimes during the night but it only lasts a few minutes before my mind jolts me awake again.” 

“Is there a chance this has anything to do with your fear of sleeping next to me? Because I thought we solved that.” 

Will made sure to smile. He pitied Hannibal, although he still didn’t quite understand the problem. Even on the first night, it had taken him less than an hour to fall asleep, despite the excitement that had settled deeply into his bones. He couldn’t even imagine how Hannibal had to feel for him to be unable to sleep for so long. 

The moonlight tumbling through the windows made it easy to see Hannibal’s face. It was lined with exhaustion, the spots under his eyes dark like shadows. Had he really thought Will wouldn’t notice? 

There was something else, though, that Will recognized. It was in his eyes, the curve of his mouth, the quiet tone of his voice. Hannibal was _embarrassed_ to be feeling this way. On any other day Will might have teased him for it, considering Hannibal rarely showed signs of embarrassment or shame, he felt too bad for him to take advantage of his state. 

An idea came to him. Maybe if Hannibal disconnected himself from the problem, gave it away even, he might feel more comfortable talking about it. It could also make it less painful for Will to hear. 

“Imagine I’m the one with trouble sleeping and I explain my situation to you,” he said. He lay down on his back and looked at the ceiling again, at the dark spot there. “Why is this happening to me?” 

“Am I your therapist or a friend?” There was amusement in his voice. 

“A therapist might be more helpful.” 

A moment of silence followed, and Will heard Hannibal draw in a sharp breath. 

“Clearly, you’re overwhelmed by your own feelings. They crash down on you like a wave might, again and again, preventing you from ever catching a moment of quiet. Especially,” he paused, for a dramatic effect or out of fear or possibly both, “when the object of your affection is so unbearably close to you.” 

Will swallowed, tried to keep his voice light. “Unbearably?” 

“Because it doesn’t feel like enough.” He sighed. “But as a wise man once said: Sometimes love is selfishness.” 

“ _You_ said that to me.” 

“So?” 

Will rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop himself from laughing. 

“So that’s it? We get a little closer and you can sleep again?” 

“Maybe. But, Will, I would never ask that of—” 

“We already made out, Hannibal. I think I can handle cuddling.” He rolled over on his side again. 

Hannibal’s mouth curled in distaste. “Please, don’t call it that.” 

“What would _you_ have called it?” 

“Professing our love for one another with our mouths.” 

Will snorted. “Right. That really rolls off the tongue.” 

It was fairly easy to decide on a sleeping position. After all, with the bullet wound in his abdomen, Hannibal had to stay on his back. 

“I’m going to put my head on your chest now so, uh. Prepare yourself for that.” 

Hannibal nodded and stretched out his arm so he could curl it around Will once he had settled down next to him. It was a strange feeling to lay on someone’s chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he had experienced it. But Hannibal was warm and smelled homely, whatever that meant, so it wasn’t unpleasant. 

Will pressed his ear to the spot just below Hannibal’s shoulder. 

“Your heart,” he whispered. He was surprised to find himself smiling. “Does it always go this fast?” 

“It seems you truly have no idea how precious you are to me.” 

“I’m starting to get one.” 

He placed his hand on Hannibal’s chest, the fingers splayed out, right above his heart so that he could feel it. They fell into silence and, within minutes, Hannibal’s heartbeat slowed to a normal pace along with his breathing until, finally, he drifted off to sleep. 

Over the following weeks, as their wounds began to heal, sleeping so close to one another became part of their routine. They even dared to switch up their position so that Hannibal could lay his head on Will’s chest. It felt good to hold him in his arms, but he wasn’t fond of sleeping on his back. 

In retrospect, Will could have predicted what would happen next. But he didn’t. 

It crashed on him like a wave. 

* * * * * 

Will dreams that night. 

He dreams of their trees, their cabin, their bed. This time, there is no dark spot on the ceiling. 

In his dream, Hannibal is kissing his scars. 

He starts with the one on his forehead, then trails his lips to Will’s cheek. His mouth is next, and he lingers there. But when Will wants to tangle his hands in his hair, he’s gone. 

“Let me take care of you.” 

Then, Hannibal’s breath on Will's jaw and neck and shoulder before he presses a kiss there, too. He leans back, his hand tracing Will’s chest. He stops just above the scar on his stomach and bends down to follow it with his tongue. 

When he looks up, Will expects to see blood there. 

Instead, Hannibal smiles, gently, and puts his mouth on him. 

* * * * * 

When Will opens his eyes, he's blinded by the sun. He grunts, burrowing his head further into the pillow. Although, his pillow being Hannibal's chest, that doesn’t get him very far. 

He waits a moment before, hesitantly, opening his eyes again and finds the cabin alive with sunlight. It has a coziness about it during any time of the day, but at times like this, with specks of light illuminating every surface, it feels homely. 

Will smiles, shrugging the blanket off so he can feel the warmth of the sun on his bare shoulder. The dust that rises after the movement and now floats visibly in the air is less appealing, but nothing can ruin this moment for him: The feeling of sunlight on his skin, Hannibal’s gentle heartbeat, his hand on– 

His hand on Will's stomach, his fingers following the scar there. When he thinks of Hannibal's mouth, his eyes widen. 

The dream. He’s had a dream about Hannibal that night. 

His face feels hot. He’s torn between moving closer to and further away from Hannibal and unsure which urge to follow. There is shame, buried deep in his chest, ugly and consuming. There’s guilt there, too, and, oddly enough, there’s humor as well. After everything the two of them have been through it was only a matter of time until this would happen to him. That it happened now, out of nowhere, after sharing a bed with Hannibal for weeks, took him by surprise. 

He settles for feeling embarrassment, refusing to give in to shame. 

With his head still on Hannibal’s chest, he feels him sigh rather than hearing it. Hannibal's arm tightens around his waist and pulls him closer. Will almost lets out an incredulous laugh when he looks up at Hannibal and finds him still asleep. 

Day after day, Will hoped he would wake up before him and now, utterly unprepared, he did it. 

He lifts his head and leans back, careful not to startle him awake anyway. Hannibal is a very light sleeper, unsurprisingly, which is why Will has never gotten to this point until now. His heart pounds loudly in his chest, his mouth pulled into a triumphant smile. 

Hannibal’s expression is peaceful and calm. He doesn’t snore but Will expected that. Even if he was naturally inclined to it, he would have found a way to unlearn the habit by now. He’s so quiet now there’s an innocence to him. If he was like this, always, the sharpness of his features softened by sleep, no one would suspect him to be capable of the things he’s done. 

Will watches him closely, and as the minutes pass by his chest tightens. It has taken him a long time to admit to himself that he loves Hannibal, that he’s _in love_ with him. There's something so very painful about it, so all-consuming he can barely stand it. But now his heart surges at the sight of him, almost bursting with love, and all he wants to do is cry because it feels _good_. 

His eyes land on Hannibal’s mouth and he remembers what it did to him in his dream, where it touched him. His throat tightens and he swallows. He can’t look away from him, can’t wish away the images that are burned into his memory. 

When his breath grows shallow and a familiar warmth pools low in his stomach, he decides it’s better to get up and out of bed before he embarrasses himself. But as soon as he shuffles away and sits down on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes, Hannibal moves. Will turns around to find him looking at him with tired eyes and a small smile softening his face. 

“Do you have somewhere to be?” 

Will smiles. “No. Just couldn’t sleep anymore.” 

Hannibal rolls on to his side, careful not to strain his stomach too much, and pats the spot next to him. 

“Well, we don’t have to sleep, Will.” 

Although he knows it’s not what Hannibal means, his mind wanders to his dream again. 

“We don’t?” 

“Of course not.” Hannibal smiles, knowing Will is just playing along. “My favorite part of the morning is lying in bed with you.” 

Will chuckles, already climbing back on the bed. “In that case–” 

He slides under the covers next to Hannibal. They're both lying on their sides across from each other. Will leans on his elbow, a sly smile on his face. 

“Is this what you had in mind?” 

“Almost. I admit I imagined you a bit closer.” 

Will shuffles closer to him until their bodies are almost touching. He grins. 

“Like this?” 

Hannibal sighs, smiling despite himself. “Will.” 

“I know, I know. I’m impossible.” 

Will closes the distance between them and slides his arm around Hannibal’s shoulder to pull himself in. Instinctively, Hannibal tugs his head under Will's chin, wrapping his arm around his waist and entangling their legs. Will is almost sure he can feel Hannibal's smile against his bare chest. 

They stay like this for a while, quietly enjoying the feeling of closeness at first before falling into a light-hearted conversation about nothing in particular. Although Will enjoys having Hannibal so close to him, he’s relieved when they finally get up for breakfast. 

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about his mouth. 

* * * * * 

Eating with Hannibal, and their routine around it, is Will's favorite part of the day. He’s sure that’s something they agree on, although they’ve never openly talked about it. After a short period of adjusting to their new life, they quickly fell into the habit of cooking their meals together. It’s not necessarily a complicated process that requires more than two capable hands, and more so about doing something together they both enjoy. 

In fact, their meals are always quite simple. The next grocery store is in town and getting there by bicycle takes about an hour. They can’t buy too much because then the trip back home would be almost impossible for one person alone. They’ve settled for visiting the town twice a week to get groceries, and occasionally a third time to buy miscellaneous things they need. 

So far they’ve acquired a good amount of clothes and books—although Hannibal wouldn’t be satisfied with either of those until he has the luxury of settling back into his old lifestyle. Will also made sure to get a fancy toolkit so he could properly get to work on fixing things around their cabin. Technically, Hannibal is perfectly capable of helping him with that, but Will prefers to do it alone. 

Maybe he also likes how Hannibal looks at him when he does so. 

Aside from that, there isn’t much else they can do out here in the woods. Maybe that’s part of why eating and cooking with Hannibal is so special to him. There’s something very domestic and almost intimate about it. If he takes a look at them and squints very hard, they’re just two people that enjoy each other’s company more than anything. Although, of course, they will never be _just_ that. 

Breakfast is their most silent meal, both of them quietly sipping their hot beverages (coffee for Will and tea for Hannibal). They keep their windows open during the morning. It’s cold, yes, but it’s also nice to listen in as the woods around them wake up. They prefer companionable silence in order to truly enjoy that. 

On most mornings, Hannibal reads while they’re eating. Some people would find that rude but Will doesn’t mind. They wouldn’t be talking to each other either way. Besides, he enjoys watching Hannibal as he reads. How his brows furrow when he has to concentrate or how he lets out a quiet chuckle when something amuses him. Will always finds it impossible not to smile along with him. 

Hannibal has never commented on the fact that Will watches him read. Maybe he likes it that way, this unspoken agreement between them that they can watch each other whenever they want and never be called out on it. This morning, Will can barely tear his eyes away from Hannibal’s mouth, from his hands. He hopes Hannibal, if he notices, won’t mention it to him either. 

* * * * * 

As they lie in bed that night, Will stares at the ceiling until, eventually, he sighs. 

“Please remind me to check out that spot tomorrow,” he says. Although they’ve never talked about it before, he’s sure Hannibal knows. 

“I would have done that either way.” He folds his hands together on top of the blanket, right above the wound in his stomach. “While I find your frustration at continuously forgetting the stain during the day endearing, that can only get us so far.” 

Will rolls his eyes and smiles. 

“Why not just take care of it yourself then?” 

“It seemed important to you.” 

It is, somehow, important to him to take care of it personally. Asking Hannibal to remind him of it already felt like defeat. He can’t shake the feeling, though, that Hannibal just doesn’t want to do it himself. But it’s not something he could blame him for so he doesn’t mention it. 

Instead, he says, “I had a dream about you last night.” 

Will turns around and leans his weight on his elbow so he can watch Hannibal react. He's met with a bright smile. 

“It must have been very exciting if you decided to share it.” His voice is heavy with curiosity. “Tell me, did you kill me in your dream?” 

“It’s fascinating that you always jump to that conclusion. But no.” He does a poor job at containing his smirk. “It was much more sensual than that.” 

Hannibal frowns, as if to say: _What could be more sensual than killing the person you love?_ Watching him come to the conclusion himself is even more entertaining than Will imagined. 

“Well,” Hannibal clears his throat, “that was my first guess. But I would never have said it out loud.” 

“And how does that make you feel? To know I've had a dream like _that_ about you?” 

Although Hannibal tries to control his breathing, it comes out somewhat unsteady and unusually loud. For him, at least. 

“That depends.” 

Will grins. He can feel Hannibal try to take back control of the situation, like tugging at invisible strings. There’s no point to it, though. Will is having far too much fun with this to give up on it. 

“On what?” 

Hannibal tilts his head to the side as if to get a better view of him. 

“Whether you enjoyed the dream or not.” 

Will takes his time closing his eyes, imagining how good his dream self had felt, and shudders slightly. It’s a bit of a show for Hannibal, admittedly, but worth it. When he opens his eyes, Hannibal’s breath catches in his throat. 

“I did.” 

Hannibal swallows, obviously at a loss for words. Will doesn’t remember ever seeing him speechless before. 

“In my dream, you wanted to kiss all of my scars.” He lets the blanket slip off his shoulder and back as he leans closer to him. “Do you know which one you started with, Hannibal?” 

“Your forehead, of course.” His voice is quiet, strained. 

“Yes.” Will smiles and lifts his arm to rest his hand on the top of Hannibal’s head. He traces an invisible line there with his thumb. “It would be right here.” He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to Hannibal's temple. “You continued like that,” he says, voice trailing off as he bends his head lower and kisses Hannibal’s cheek, right where his own scar would be. 

He leans back again, looking for any sign that Hannibal might not want this. 

“Your mouth,” Hannibal suggests. “Many poets have described it as an open wound.” 

It's the clearest _Yes_ he will ever get from him so he nods and leans in, capturing Hannibal's mouth with his own. A soft, almost desperate sound escapes Hannibal’s throat and he reaches up to bury his hand in Will's hair, to pull him closer and hold him there. Will grabs his wrist and pins it, gently, to the bed. 

“You wouldn’t let me touch you.” 

Hannibal’s mouth hangs open, his breathing loud and heavy like he doesn’t feel the need to hold back anymore. He smiles, and his teeth glint in the moonlight. 

“How cruel,” Hannibal says. 

Will shakes his head and leans forward again, his mouth on Hannibal’s jaw, wandering further down along his neck. 

“No. You were so good to me.” He stops at the spot where Hannibal’s neck meets his shoulder and sucks a bruise there, although that’s not what had happened in his dream, and Hannibal groans quietly beneath him. He smiles, licking over the purplish mark before moving on. “So good.” 

Unlike in his dream, they're both fully clothed, but that just means he will have to get creative. He kisses Hannibal’s shoulder through the fabric and, as if in sympathy, his own shoulder begins to throb. It’s so minimal, though, that he barely feels it. 

He leans back and allows himself to just _look_. It takes him a moment to realize Hannibal’s eyes are brimming with tears. 

“Do you want me to stop?” 

“You’d know if I did.” 

Will chuckles, nodding. “Thought I'd ask just in case.” 

Hannibal’s expression softens, and while Will can appreciate that, he wants the desperation back. So he puts a hand on Hannibal's chest, just above his heart, and begins to slide it down, as slowly as he can. 

“Do you know what comes next, Hannibal?” 

He gasps in response. Of course he knows what comes next. 

Will applies as little pressure as possible when he passes Hannibal’s bullet wound, covered in fresh bandages, then stops his movement altogether. When he slides down the bed to straddle Hannibal’s thighs, he finds Hannibal has already spread them for him. Will’s grin is so bright that his cheek aches. 

Once he’s settled in between his legs, he turns his attention back to Hannibal’s stomach, right where his own scar would be. He follows the imaginary line with his finger, then, without warning, pulls back Hannibal’s shirt to use his tongue instead. 

Hannibal snorts, as if it tickles. “Did I really do that?” 

“Oh, yes.” Will sits back again, admiring the view. “I remember every detail of the dream. Even what you said to me.” 

Hannibal raises an eyebrow in curiosity. 

“ _Let me take care of you_.” 

“And did you?” 

Will hooks his fingers around the waistband of Hannibal’s pants. 

“How could I refuse,” he says, and pulls. 


End file.
